Kiss My Eyes and Lay Me to Sleep
by BlackRosePoetry
Summary: Howie's been dreaming: and these aren't the dreams you wake up from. Freddy's back, and he's come to Bailey City. So what's a third grader and his teacher to do? Well, that's where our story begins. . . .


**Kiss My Eyes and Lay Me to Sleep**

Howie stared tiredly at the board, listening to Mrs. Jeepers drone about something along the lines of math. A yawn made its way out of the blonde's mouth, accentuating the deep purple bruises underneath his eyes and making the poor boy look half dead. To be perfectly honest, Howie _was_ about to pass out. But he wasn't about to let anyone know about that. Not even his best friends were going to find out about what goes on within the walls of his Dad's suburban home.

"Class, please turn to page 313 and copy down problems one through twenty," Mrs. Jeepers instructed softly.

Howie pulled out his math textbook and opened it drearily, fingers ghosting over the smooth pages. His bleary vision immediately sharpened as he saw pictures of dead children and bloody smudges spreading across the shiny paper. He turned the page, only to be met with a rough slash with burned edges and a razor glove. The third-grader's heart pounded frantically in his chest. He looked up slowly, eyes slowly moving to gaze at his now-frozen classmates. Mrs. Jeepers' voice had been muted by an unseen force, leaving her freckled student to a stifling, blood-curdling silence.

"Wake up," Howie muttered, pinching himself harshly on the arm. "Wake up, wake up, wake up, **wake up**."

Ignorant to the small boy's pleas, the room crumbled to ashes around him, leaving a charred ruin of what was once a wonderful area. A man that Howie was now becoming quite familiar with sat behind the desk. Razors that glinted dangerously in the sickly light clacked against the rough wood, sending chills down Howie's spine. Heavily scarred skin mottled the man's face and arms. It made him seem unearthly. . . .un-human. But it was the voice that always sent Howie into a panic attack.

**You really shouldn't fall asleep in class, kid**, he murmured. That voice sounded like he'd been gargling nails after eating a bowl of ground glass.

"W- wh-what do you want from me?" Howie whispered as he wrinkled his freckle covered nose in fear.

Freddy never looked up, but chuckled. His battered fedora scattered ash across the already-filthy floors and the razors cut deep rents into the wood desk. **You know what I want? I want to be alive again, twerp. Can you do that for me? Hmm? Can you turn back time? Can you bring the dead back to life? Can ya, ya spoiled little snot-nosed bastard!**

Howie trembled violently, unable to move out of sheer terror. Freddy, however, stood from his seat, plodding steadily over to where the young boy sat. He chuckled nastily and his eyes glinted with an evil light that the young boy imagined the Devil would be proud of. It took a few seconds for the reality of the situation to sink in, and when it did, Howie bolted for the door. That chuckle resounded behind him, getting louder with each passing second.

But when he emerged out of the other door, he was in the same classroom, Freddy standing right in front of him. An evil grin was plastered to his jerky-like lips as he backed Howie into a corner, making the young boy cower in fear.

**Don't worry, boy. This won't hurt one . . . little. . . . BIT.**

With that the claws came slashing near his eyes and Howie sat bolt upright, screaming at the top of his lungs. Frantic, he looked around at his classmates, only to find that they were wide-eyed and staring at him like he'd grown a second head. Howie panted harshly, tears pricking at the back of his eyelids when Mrs. Jeepers rushed over to him from the board. Her hands felt around on his face, making sure that the young boy didn't have a fever.

"Howie, come with me," she murmured quietly, gently helping Howie from his seat and out the classroom door.

Immediately, Mrs. Jeepers turned to her student with a worried expression plastered to her face. Howie down-turned his head in shame; he didn't want to have to face those freaky green eyes right now. What he _really_ wanted to do was figure out why this Freddy guy was haunting him. There wasn't any reason for it. He was **there **all of a sudden, burrowing his way into the third-grader's mind until there was no escaping the horrible image of his burned visage.

A cool, smooth finger slipped itself under his chin, forcing Howie to look into a pair of oddly luminescent green eyes. "Howie, you need to tell me what's going on. It's not like you to fall asleep in class, much less wake up screaming at the top of your lungs. You don't look well, and I'm starting to think there might be a problem."

Howie mulled what Mrs. Jeepers had said over, reluctantly admitting that she might have one or two points. He knew he didn't look good; in fact, he'd begun to avoid looking in mirrors at all after about his second nearly-sleepless night. There were so many cuts and bruises littering his body from various encounters with Freddy, he'd lost track. Right now, he just needed somebody, _anybody_, on this godforsaken planet to talk to about what was happening without fear of being medicated or sent to a nuthouse.

Slowly, Howie took a deep breath and murmured, "You know how they say if you die in your dreams, you die in real life?"

Mrs. Jeepers frowned, crouching down to Howie's level as the little boy began to speak rather cryptically. "I'm not okay. I can't sleep or blink or even take a nap without this evil man popping into my head. He comes at me with this razor glove, and no matter how hard I try, I can't get away! He wiggles in and twists at the most horrible parts of me. And if he cuts or bruises me in my dreams, it pops up in real life."

Tears began to well in Howie's brown eyes as he lifted the fabric of his long-sleeved sweater. He watched horror creep across Mrs. Jeepers' face, green gems scanning the deep, ragged gash in his flesh of his right hand. He couldn't blame her; the wound went almost to the bone. She looked up at him in confusion, only for the expression to turn to pity as he openly started to sob.

"Mrs. Jeepers I'm scared. I don't want to tell Mom and Dad, and I don't want to go to a nuthouse. But I don't want to go to sleep; if I sleep, I won't wake up again. What am I going to do?"

Howie began to cry softly, looking down at his sneakers in shame. He barely registered that Mrs. Jeepers had wrapped her arms around him, trying to calm him down with a simple hug. Surprisingly, after a moment, it began to help. Howie could almost imagine it was his mother hugging him, and he snuggled deep into the embrace, sobbing openly against a thick curtain of auburn hair that smelled of orchids.

"I don't wanna die," he whimpered. "I'm scared; I don't wanna die."

"Shush," his teacher murmured. "It'll be alright, Howie. You are not going to die."

Howie didn't know how long he'd stayed like that, but he knew that he missed Mrs. Jeepers' warmth for a moment or two. She stepped back into the room, murmuring something quietly before returning to his side, and gently grasping his shoulder. "Come one, dear. We're going to see if the nurse can do something about those cuts."

The young boy followed his teacher in a rather dazed stupor. He was numb; there wasn't anything he could do about his fate now, was there? So what was the point in trying anymore? He knew as soon as he saw the look of sheer horror and pity on Mrs. Jeepers' face that his Mom and Dad were going to be told about his state. Then, they'd end up sending him to a shrink, banning him from all caffeine-filled products, and he'd just get killed because he just couldn't stay awake anymore. But maybe it wouldn't be so bad this way. These cuts and bruises were hurting anyways, so having the nurse look at them was a bit of a plus.

Nurse Lane's office was just as pristine and sterile as Howie always remembered it being. The table was white, along with the walls and floors, while every other surface was shining steel. He almost allowed himself to smile after a moment's contemplation; at least something could still be normal. Mrs. Jeepers helped him to sit on the examination table. She flashed him a reassuring half-smile before saying quietly, "I'm going to get Nurse Lane. Stay right here until I get back."

Howie simply nodded dully, gaze never leaving the dirty tops of his sneakers. He was so **tired**. Why did it have to be so difficult to stay awake? Why couldn't his body just take the hint that sleep would kill him right now, and just stay conscious without so much effort? He groaned; even thinking hurt his head!

The familiar squeaking sound of Nurse Lane's tennis-shoes managed to rouse the boy slightly, and he lifted his head to watch the nurse and his teacher enter. Ms. Lane shot him a slight smile as she pulled on a pair of blue latex gloves and grabbed some supplies from one of the many shelves lining the wall.

"Well Howie, Mrs. Jeepers tells me you've got some cuts that I need to take a look at."

Rather sheepishly, Howie nodded, playing with a worn thread on his sleeve. The nurse smiled a little bit wider. "I'm going to need you to take off your shirt, sweetie. I'm going to need to take a closer look at anything other than the cut on your arm."

Howie shifted uncomfortably for a moment before painfully shifting his weight so he could easier remove his shirt. The turtleneck came off without much of a struggle, but even lifting his arms over his head made him bite his lip in pain. What really pained him was listening to Nurse Lane gasp loudly; he felt like a person that'd been cut up like a piece of lunchmeat. Of course, he had been, but that didn't mean he had to feel like it.

"Howie," the nurse whispered, "how did this happen?"

The little boy didn't say anything, instead wrapping his battered and lacerated arms around his torso like a protective blanket. He sent a furtive glance towards his teacher, silently pleading for her to understand that he didn't want to talk about it. Almost immediately, Mrs. Jeepers placed her hand on her fellow staff member's shoulder and squeezed gently. "I've already discussed the cause with my student. We're just here to get him medical care; we'll discuss further action at a later time."

Howie didn't think he'd ever love anyone as much as he loved his third-grade teacher in that moment.


End file.
